


You Fit My Skin

by morethanthedark (Kayndred)



Series: 30 Days of Monster Grantaire [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Day 3 - Slime, Enjolras does not agree with this plan, Gen, Grantaire is a slime mutant, Grantaire just wants to not be rained on thanks, Mutant Powers, Mutants, everyone is a huge dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayndred/pseuds/morethanthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I gave Enjolras boobs.</p><p>[Or - Post-protest Enjolras and Grantaire get trapped by the cops and Grantaire, ever resourceful, decides that he can get both Enjolras and himself out of danger with minimal fuss. The results are... mixed, to say the least.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Fit My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Weird mutant AU happened.

This wouldn’t be happening if Enjolras knew when to shut up and run, Grantaire thinks, shivering against the chill. He wills the color of the wall to bleed more heavily across the delicate film that constitutes his skin, thankful for the shadows and the clouds passing over head. ~~~~

Thankful that because he’s stretched like a tarp the searching feds can’t see the shine of Enjolras’ hair or the golden inlay on his skin.

“You should leave.” Enjolras whispers – probably again, because Gratiare really doesn’t listen sometimes. The words are fierce and warm against what would be his shoulder and arm if he weren’t bubbled around the other man.

“Nope.” He has to relocate his mouth to somewhere closer to Enjolras to whisper properly. “Another minute or so and they’ll be gone. Then you can put me in a jar and we can get out of here.”

Enjolras is about to respond – and from some strange third sight Grantaire can see it, like the corner of his sight has fish eyed and blurred – when something farther down the alley shifts and falls, a blue uniformed cop spinning abruptly to stalk down towards them. Grantaire pushes a shakily formed hand out of his mass and over Enjolras’ mouth, the fingers coalescing into a mitt when his attention reverts back to maintaining the stone grey color of the wall.

The cop stops, eyes searching in the descending gloom – it’s too early to be night, Grantaire hopes it doesn’t rain – before turning around and going to look out the opposite way, speaking into their walky-talky.

This is taking too long. They have to get back to the Musian before someone decides to call Enjolras and ask where he is and what’s happening and why aren’t they back. 

Slowly, agonizingly so, Grantaire begins to close in on the other man, clinging to his clothes and his hair like a second skin. He thins himself out as far as he can, gathering excess in Enjolras pockets, willing his skin to hold.

“What are you doing!” Enjolras whispers furiously, reaching up to pat his chest and arms, confused at the sudden Grantaire-wetsuit that’s constricted around him. Grantaire lets out a mental sigh and gives Enjolras boobs, making him jerk and freeing up the blonds’ pockets.

“Try not to breath me in, okay?” He says instead of an actual answer, the majority of his attention on envisioning a girl in his mind. Average, he thinks, average with forgettable features and nothing outstanding  _don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me_  and the entire thing is almost too much like being six again. Grantaire feels the shape waver, feels his body expand as though it has lungs to breath and Enjolras stiffen, before he snaps back like elastic and there’s no longer either Grantaire or Enjolras in the alley, but a girl he’s seen at a coffee shop in the square several times, earbuds in, brown shirt, dark jeans, no brands, no labels.

“Walk.” Grantaire says right next to Enjolras ear. The other man shivers slightly. “Walk the past the cop like you came the other way. Don’t speak, don’t look at them, just go to the Musain.”

There’s a moment when he thinks his fearless leader is going to argue with him, going to tell him no and to stop and to pack himself into the big jar they have in Enjolras’ backpack for occasions where the police and the riot brigade decide that electrocuting or drowning Grantaire is a legal act of public security.

But then Enjolras is walking, normal, evenly paced, and Grantaire lets his form slide, allowing for a more feminine hip swing – lateral displacement, wider hips, circular not square and Grantaire has never loved anatomical studies in art more than right then – and boob jiggle.

Because if Grantaire is going to turn Enjolras into a lady he is going to have boobs because where else is he supposed to put most of himself? Enjolras has a thing against butt touches.

The cop doesn’t even spare them a glance, too busy reporting into whoever’s running the show, but Grantaire can tell that Enjolras doesn’t let himself relax until they are eight blocks over and passing through the alley that leads to the Musain.

Of course it’s Courfeyrac who gets the door when they rap out their three-two-three code knock. He goes from cautious to moderately flirtatious in a heartbeat.

“Can I help you?” His eyebrows do a suggestive wiggle, and Grantaire can feel the sigh Enjolras breaths through his nose.

“It’s us.” Enjolras says, all man voice, and Courfeyrac goes pale and wide-eyed just in time for Grantaire to go, “Let us in, let us in!”

“Oh my fuck.” Is all he gets out before they are passing by him and into the bar, barely sparing a glance to everyone else. Enjolras is kind enough to stop before Grantaire begins to peel away from him, sliding to the floor like so much jell-o.

The ceiling never looked so beautiful, he thinks, a puddle of grey. It’s not his best color, but the pallet from the wall and the girl are bleeding together in his skin, and when Joly and Combeferre lean over him to ask how he feels – “And what was that?” “Did you get hit? Are you hurt? Grantaire  _say something!_ ” – all he can do is gurgle piteously and summon up enough concentration to have a face and a head of hair.

“I’m  _cold._ ” Is what comes out of him, sounding like water bubbling. He registers Joly telling Combeferre and Bahorel to go get the basin and the gloves before his vision swims and his mind goes in all directions.

 _I gave Enjolras boobs,_  is the thought that floats to the surface before he descends into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://morethanthedark.tumblr.com/) sometime!


End file.
